“Pleased to meet you. I’m Melbourne Faraday. Call me Mel. Here, I’ll toss these in for you.” He eased her large fire pack from her shoulder and held out his hand for her day pack.
“I can do it.” She preferred handling her own gear. But he’d helped O’Connor with his, so she wouldn’t make it a big deal.
Mel heaved both of Tara’s packs in, then repositioned his cap the way guys did by default when they couldn’t figure what else to do with themselves.
“Thanks.”
“He likes to do it. Makes him feel useful.” O’Connor grinned, sliding on a pair of Ray Bans. He ran fingers slow and smooth along the bows of the frame, fitting them behind his ears, finishing with a flourish by tapping the bridge. She’d seen guys toss sunglasses on countless times, but it amused her at the methodical way this one did.
O’Connor opened the front passenger door. “Want to ride shotgun?”
She waved him to the front and climbed into the back seat. “Thanks, O’Connor, but I’ll be a backseat driver.”
“Ah, control freak. Call me Ryan.” He hopped in and closed the door, then turned to look at her. “Noticed you weren’t crazy about flying. At least our plane didn’t fall on someone’s house.”
“Since you mentioned it, I did see a lady in black riding a broom outside my window.” A corner of her mouth turned up, but her eyelids insisted on lockdown for the night.
“Why were you sent here while Montana’s burning?” Mel pointed his aviator shades at the rearview as he accelerated onto the highway.
Tara snapped her lids open. “Um, well I…” She didn’t think to rehearse her soundbite for being reassigned here.
Ryan tilted his head back and casually interjected. “You’re on a temporary detail assignment, right?”
She appreciated him tossing her a slow pitch. “Uh-huh. Temporary detail assignment.”
Score another point for Ryan. Not only was he kind and considerate, but he seemed to have a unique sensibility, knowing what she’d been through. She remembered his calm voice and denim eyes when hell became reality that day on the fire.
“Welcome to never-ending daylight,” said Mel. “Helps to have a sleep mask.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She didn’t need one at the moment, her eyelids were heavy enough.
Mel fiddled with the radio tuner, settling for Jump, by Eddie Van Halen. “O’Connor, they’re playing your song.”
“No jumping this week. Maybe next.” Ryan folded his arms and leaned back.
She opened her eyes as Mel drove past several buildings to a far corner of the military base. The van rolled to a stop at the first of three two-story, rectangular gray buildings, framed in the indigo twilight.
“Home sweet home, ladies and gents.” Mel smiled at the rearview mirror and idled the engine.
Tara cranked the door handle and stepped out. The sweet scent of cut grass filled her nostrils and a wave of loneliness swept over her. She let out a long, slow breath. Here I am, Alaska. She may as well be on Mars with Mark Watney.
Ryan was already at the rear of the van unloading their packs. He lifted hers and held it out to her.
Her heart ticked up as she took it. As Katy would say, this guy’s indicator arrow is well inside the charm zone on the smoking hot firefighter meter. After Tara broke off her engagement, she defaulted back to Dad’s advice not to date smokejumpers. She was in Alaska to fight fire, prove her mettle, and go home to join the Lolo Hotshot Crew; not crush on another smokejumper.
On the plane, she had been surprisingly relaxed when Ryan fell asleep on her shoulder. She waited ten, twenty minutes—okay half an hour before waking him. But that was before she recognized him and wanted to crawl under her seat.
Ryan slammed the rear door and hollered at the open driver’s window. “Later, Mel. Thanks.”
“You bet.” Mel drove off and they retrieved their gear.
Ryan led the way up a few concrete steps. “Here’s the barracks. You’ll be mixed in with emergency and hotshot crews, and a smattering of visiting smokejumpers.”
She hoisted her weighty packs. “Thought jumpers all stayed in separate quarters.”
“Mostly, but not always. Depends how many are here.”
“Right.” Great, smokejumpers stay here. She’d steer clear. But at least this guy didn’t flirt, which she appreciated. It annoyed her when guys hit on her at work. Refreshing to meet a guy who maintained professionalism.
She raised her chin at him. “I appreciated you not saying the real reason why I’m here.” She wanted to say more, but she was physically and emotionally drained.
Ryan smiled. “I don’t judge. Why you’re here is your business. Since you are, I hope you enjoy it.”
His words warmed her. “Thanks.” She walked inside to the main lobby and he followed.
An older, platinum blonde stood behind a small counter, furiously scribbling on a yellow legal pad.
“Hey, Rosie, how’s my favorite barracks manager?” Ryan boomed out a greeting.
Rosie beamed at him. “How’s my favorite firefighter? Your being back home has certainly brightened my evening.” She gave him a cat-eyed look, and for a minute Tara thought she might throw her arms around him.
He pointed his thumb at her. “This is Tara, a fire eater fresh from Montana.”
“Welcome to Alaska.” Rosie smiled as she placed some forms on a clipboard.
“Rosie will fix you up. If you need anything, holler. See you later.” He sprang up the stairs as if he weren’t carrying two heavy packs.
“Nice meeting you, Dances-With-Smoke,” Tara called after him, watching his splendid backside longer than she intended.
He signaled a wave before disappearing to the second floor.
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Rosie’s voice had a dreamy texture as she stared after him.
Tara gave her an odd look. The woman could be his grandmother.
Rosie’s tone snapped to den mother mode. “Don’t get attached, he’s always gone. You’d have to get in line after all of the other women. Sign here.” She pushed a pen and clipboard across the green-speckled Formica. “You’ll bunk here during training and between fire assignments.
